CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR: REPORTED IN A LETTER BY AN EYE-WITNESS.
It was the last Monday in March, and I had come in from my country home to see if I could find my old school friend, Margaret Crosby, who is now Mrs.Donald Bird, and who is spending a few years in California.
The directory gave me her address, and I soon found myself on the corner of two beautiful streets and before a very large and elegant house.

This did not surprise me, as I knew her husband to be a very wealthy man.

There seemed to be various entrances, for the house stood with its side to the main street; but when I had at last selected a bell to ring, I became convinced that I had not, after all, gone to the front door.

It was too late to retreat, however, and very soon the door was opened by a pretty maid-servant in a white cap and apron.
"You need n't have rung, 'm; they goes right in without ringing to-day," she said pleasantly.
"Can I see Mrs.Bird ?" I asked.
"Well, 'm," she said hesitatingly, "she 's in Paradise." "Lovely Margaret Crosby dead! How sudden it must have been," I thought, growing pale with the shock of the surprise; but the pretty maid, noticing that something had ruffled my equanimity, went on hastily:-- "Excuse me, 'm.

I forgot you might be a stranger, but the nurses and mothers always comes to this door, and we 're all a bit flustered on account of its bein' Miss Pauline's last 'afternoon,' and the mothers call the music-room 'Paradise,' 'm, and Mr.John and the rest of us have took it up without thinkin' very much how it might sound to strangers." "Oh, I see," I said mechanically, though I did n't see in the least; but although the complicated explanation threw very little light on general topics, it did have the saving grace of assuring me that Margaret Bird was living.
"Could you call her out for a few minutes ?" I asked.